


what can move me

by ddaydream



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Goodbyes, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Sort Of, both of them are bad at feelings, like we get it youre british, reupload bc i deleted the wrong fic by accident im a genius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddaydream/pseuds/ddaydream
Summary: George and Wilbur say goodbye.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	what can move me

**Author's Note:**

> as u can see i had to reupload this bc im a clown who deleted the wrong thing  
> i feel like these two are a bit weird and neither of them are sort of... typically romantic i guess? i think regular fluff wouldn’t suit their dynamic that well if that makes sense.   
> the title is from i’m sorry boris by wilbur

They’re sitting at a table in Costa. There are two paper cups in front of them, filled with lukewarm coffee they hadn’t felt like drinking. Neither of them know what to say.

George has forgone his usual outfit of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s wearing blue jeans and a yellow sweatshirt that’s far, far too big for him. He’s practically drowning in it. He keeps having to pull the sleeves up so he can use his hands, but they inevitably slip back down within a few seconds. Normally, Wilbur would find it charming. Now, though, it’s just another painful reminder of what’s to come.

“It’s pretty quiet in here,” George remarks. He wraps his hands around his coffee cup. “I guess it’s early.”

Wilbur bites his lip, covers his mouth with one hand, and looks out the window at the platform below. The orange lights of the train timetables blur as his eyes fill with tears. 

“Wilbur...” George whispers. He reaches across the table and rests his hand on Wilbur’s. “It’s okay. It won’t be too long.”

He’s terrible at comforting people. Wilbur’s heard him say that exact phrase countless times. It’s not helpful to dwell on it, necessarily, but he wishes George would occasionally acknowledge the pain of the time in between. 

“Two months,” Wilbur says. He lets out a shaky sigh, not taking his eyes off of the packs of commuters shuffling in and out of trains. 

“And it’ll go by just like that,” George says. He withdraws his hand and takes a sip of his coffee, cringing at its temperature. “And then we’ll be back together again like nothing ever happened.”

“And then you’ll go again.”

“Well... that’s true.”

Wilbur waits a few more seconds to see if George has anything to add, but he doesn’t. The fact that he has nothing else to say means that Wilbur can’t wait any longer. They can’t keep going like this.

“And then what? How long do we do this for?”

George has the audacity to shrug. 

Wilbur lets out a bitter chuckle. “Really? George, that’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know,” George says. “Sorry.”

Wilbur blinks away his tears and focuses on the big clock at the end of the platform. It’s 8:43. They have nineteen more minutes together. This is not the time to have this conversation. He knows that.

He pushes it anyway.

“Another year of university.”

“That’s true.”

“And after that?”

George sighs. He picks at the loose thread coming off of the end of his sleeve. “I don’t know,” he admits. 

“Do you think about it?” Wilbur says. 

“I guess not.”

“Why not?”

George shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just think about the next time I’ll see you. I feel like we can figure it out as we go along. We always have.”

Wilbur pretends to mull George’s response over, but none of it is surprising to him. 

“I don’t want to stop doing this,” George adds. Wilbur finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks over at him. He’s taken aback; he wasn’t expecting more. “It’s hard work, but it’s worth it to me. I hope you feel the same.”

“I absolutely do,” Wilbur says. 

There’s some merit in George’s approach to thinking about this, really. There’s nothing in the world that compares to the feeling of hugging him on the train platform after being separated for weeks. Focusing on that moment rather than all the loneliness and confusion that comes with the distance isn’t a bad way of going about it. It just makes Wilbur question whether George feels as miserable about their time apart as he does. 

Wilbur’s train of thought is interrupted by an announcement over the loudspeakers.

_ The 9:02 train to London Paddington will be departing from Platform 3. _

“Well, that’s my train.”

George gets up slowly, stretching his arms over his head for a second before letting them fall by his sides. Wilbur’s sweater comes to his mid-thigh even when he’s standing up. 

An overwhelming feeling of dread fills Wilbur’s chest. He nudges George’s suitcase out from under the table with his foot and stands up as well, both hands trembling violently as he takes their coffee cups to the bin and returns to George’s side.

“You didn’t forget anything?” Wilbur asks as they walk out of the Costa. He’s wheeling George’s suitcase behind him. George has long given up asking to do it himself - Wilbur will never let him.

“If I did, you can mail it to me,” George says. “Or you can give it to me next time.”

He takes Wilbur’s free hand in his and squeezes it gently. They look odd together, with Wilbur towering eight inches over George, and it takes a lot of awkward maneuvering for them to be able to hold hands or put their arms around each other. They still haven’t mastered the art. Moments where they can physically touch are still few and far between, so they lack the practice.

Wilbur glances up at the clock as they pass by it. Eight more minutes.

They come to the end of Platform 3. Wilbur can’t go any further without a ticket. He reluctantly passes the suitcase handle over to George. 

“So,” George says softly.

“I’m going to miss you,” Wilbur whispers. There are too many people rushing past them for him to speak at full volume. He wishes that they could have private goodbyes.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” George lets go of his suitcase and throws his arms around Wilbur’s torso, burying his face in his sweater. “I love you.”

The tears return to Wilbur’s eyes. He doesn’t hear that all too often. Neither of them are particularly affectionate people, but George is especially closed off. He loves him, of course, but he shows it in other ways. It’s usually Wilbur supplying the words.

“I love you.”

They hold each other for the precious last few moments they have together, ignoring the commuters who glare at them for standing in the way. Wilbur’s never sure how he can bear to let go, but somehow he manages to force himself every time. He takes a step back from George at nine on the dot.

“You should go. You’ll miss your train.”

“Do I have to?” George says. He’s only half-joking.

“Yes. But you’re right. It won’t be too long. We’ll make it. No matter how hard it all gets, I’ll meet you right here in two months, okay? I promise.”

One more hug, a quick peck on the lips, and then George is past the ticket gates. Wilbur watches him as he sprints up the platform and slips through a set of doors just as they close behind him. It’s better when there’s no time to hesitate, no time for George to turn around, no time for them to make eye contact and wonder why they’re stupid enough to let each other go.

The first few moments after George leaves him behind are the moments where Wilbur doubts himself the least. Two months. A little bit less, technically. Fifty-nine days. They can get through it. It’s certainly going to be worth the wait. 


End file.
